


Soultorn

by catinahat



Series: Resonance [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Telepathic Bond, fated, soulmark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catinahat/pseuds/catinahat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In that instant they saw their heart on the other man’s wrist.</p><p>John Watson had waited a long time to meet his Soulmate, but whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. </p><p>No Soulmark could prepare him for the reality of a Soulmate like Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quite Extraordinary

 

_“I…my name is John. John Watson”_

_“Holmes. Sherlock Holmes.”_

The two men, one tall and dark haired, the other compact and fair, stood facing each other across the seemingly impassable gulf between them. Both had their eyes fixed on the other’s Soulmark, as their respective arms were held presented forwards. It was the moment both had feared would never come. All the hopes and doubts, tears, resentments and anger that should have filled that moment were held at bay by the sheer wonder, the absolute _rightness_ of that instant.

That instant where they saw their heart on the other man’s wrist.

It was a long while before either of them stirred, neither willing to break the quiet, the privacy of the time before the inevitable accusations. The Resonance that shimmered over the surface of their Soulmarks began to coil along their arms, insistent in its demand to reach its partner. In some Soulmates the Resonance was barely present at all, a mere whisper of suggestion…for these two nothing less than a roar would do.

The Resonance itself wasn’t material as such, was certainly nothing tangible that anyone had been able to touch or quantify. It defied the laws of science and religion, seeming to appear and disappear at will, almost always only ever present at the initial Soulbond of two Soulmates.

John stepped hesitantly forwards, his hand still outstretched towards the handsome man to whom fate had dictated that he would be bound. He caught the tightening around the man’s eyes, the hint of nervousness.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John glanced at the ma-at _Sherlock,_ with more than a hint of surprise. Firstly he had barely said anything to him, let alone details of his career, and secondly this was a conversation that should wait until after the Soulbond. Already the pressure of the Resonance was making itself known, almost physically tugging the two men forwards.

Neither before nor since had Resonance been known to manifest so strongly. Fate, it seemed, needed John Watson and Sherlock Holmes to be together.

“Your military service – was it Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John blinked in confusion as Sherlock lowered his arm, turning his forearm inwards hiding the Soulmark from view. The Resonance began to dissipate, curling inwardly towards John’s Soulmark, resting lightly over his Soulmark insistently.

“How did you…Mike. He’s already told you about me, hasn’t he?"

John watched as a smirk flickered across Sherlock’s face, a brief flash of amusement brightening that penetrating gaze.

“Not a word.”

He responded softly, his gaze never leaving John’s face, a fact that made John shift uneasily, exchanging his weight from his right, useless leg.

“I play the violin.”

Sherlock said abruptly, startling John out of the examination of his Soulmate – his gaze had been flicking up and down, looking for any hint that the man was in fact in any way glad to meet him. At his words, John held up his exposed Soulmark. Sherlock’s heart. The rune that a young John had laughingly thought resembled a Christmas cracker. One strand of the Soulmark began to glow brightly, the Resonance responding to the need in John. The strand that symbolised ‘music’.

“I know.”

“I don’t talk for days on end.”

A second strand lit up brightly, the darkened fragment of Sherlock’s heart that John had whispered to all those years ago when he had felt his Soulmate slipping into darkness, ‘shadow’.

“I know.”

“I am a…difficult man to find a flatmate for.”

Sherlock finished hoarsely, a faint trace of desperation entering his voice as his gaze shifted to focus solely on John’s Soulmark. Sure enough a third strand glimmered, the Resonance whispering along John’s forearm to curl once more around his wrist.

“I can believe that.”

John replied, his finger lightly tracing the third strand of the Soulmark, the strand that represented ‘friction’ and ‘need’. John quirked a small smile in Sherlock’s direction, suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze but nonetheless praying that he wasn’t about to be given a dismissal. Somehow he knew that he would never recover from that – knew that he would finally go through with the promise that his army pistol was providing.

“But Soulmate’s should know the worst about each other.”

John’s gaze snapped up to clash with Sherlock’s, their eyes searching the pair opposite for reassurance. Sherlock’s tilted his head, his eyes narrowed curiously – reluctantly he raised his arm the Resonance immediately dancing along his arm to curl around his Soulmark.

“For example I knew from the age of about seven that you were destined to be a warrior – or in more modern terms, a soldier – I knew that you had in you the equal capacity to _kill_ and _cure_. So then, Army Doctor. Simple. Now where would an Army Doctor find themselves with a traumatic injury and a tan line these days – Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Sherlock finished quietly, his gaze suddenly unsure – his arm wavering slightly in its stretched out position. _He’s waiting,_ John realised suddenly, _he’s waiting to be rejected. Exactly  like me._

“It was…Afghanistan. And _that?_ That was…brilliant.”

John said finally, his mouth caught in a small smirk as he recognised the shock on Sherlock’s face.

“Do you think so?”

John experienced a deep sense of regret as he recognised the hesitance in the other man’s question, he had known of course that his Soulmate has suffered…what was becoming increasingly clear was that he had been punished his whole life simply for being brilliant.

John remembered how when he had been younger there had been an almost constant stream of consciousness from Sherlock, not uncommon with children who had been born already Etched. This had faded by the time he could communicate fully to his parents what he had experienced, but had known that the mind attached to his was by far superior to that of the average child. Or even the average adult.

“Of _course_ it was.”

John responded finally.

“It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, aware that John was the only person outside of his family who hadn’t taken immediate offence at his deductions. Sherlock had spent most of his life either hating his anonymous Soulmate, or desperately praying that they would someday meet. It was time to choose which side he would come down on.

The choice he would make would determine the rest of his life. Once Soulbound he would be joined forever to this man he had only just met… _NO!_ His instinct kicked in, for once not demanding that he prevent an emotional connection from forming, but whispering to him of the years he had felt his Soulmate’s presence in the back of his mind. Of a promise sent along the connection many years previously, ‘I would take care of you’. It also reminded him forcefully of the phantom image of the gun that had begun to plague his dreams, the breathless prayer uttered in the desert sand that he would never, for as long as he lived, forget.

And really it wasn’t a decision at all.

Sherlock stepped forwards, not hesitating for a moment when John mirrored his footsteps. Although Sherlock had never observed a Soulbonding before, he was nevertheless completely sure of what he had to do.

Their hands clasped, their Soulmark’s rested against each other and the room exploded in a piercing display of Resonance.

 

_A blonde haired child kicked a football, sulking in the back garden._

_A boy of about six fell to his knees, clutching his head._

_John stood, small fists clenched as he screamed at his father, fear making him bold._

_Sherlock swore never to be that vulnerable again._

_John the Doctor saved a young man from choking to death._

_Sherlock’s brilliant mind was driving him mad._

_John the Soldier shot his first man and the nightmares started._

_Sherlock was arrested, but found his life again._

_John prayed for his life, surrounded by sand and blood and pain._

_Sherlock desperately clung on to the fragile link in his mind._

John hissed, his eyes scrunched shut as he was overwhelmed with memories, some of which he knew were his…and others which were most definitely belonged to Sherlock. They were raw. Drawn from the darkest and most desperate times, moments when both of them nevertheless had reached out in an attempt to find the other.

_Fascinating._

John’s eyes snapped open, finding himself pinned by a cobalt gaze that was a mixture of the wonder that had yet to leave the both of them, yet also a fierce intelligence, almost frightening in its intensity.

_Sherlock?_

He ventured curiously, feeling his way along the Soulbond, delighting in the sense of _completeness._ The phantom bond that linked them stretched endlessly, shimmering incandescently, throwing off a rainbow of Resonance. It glowed a brilliant white, like metal just removed from a furnace. Yet, despite its brilliance, John was struck at once by its fragility. It was so new. So delicate. Yet…the _possibility_ that existed in that one, delicate strand that linked them…it was enough and more than enough.

_Obviously._

John raised his eyebrows, suddenly aware that despite the fact that Sherlock’s facial expression had not changed, he was instantly aware of his Soulmate’s shift in emotion. The humour that was infused in that word had travelled effortlessly along the bond, sending shockwaves through John’s head.

_I’m going to let go._

Sherlock warned, pulling his arm slowly from John’s, who let it go with no small amount of reluctance – which made Sherlock’s mouth twitch slightly. He was so used to the opposite reaction coming out of people whom he touched.

_Wh-what are you…?_

_Testing._

John swallowed back his instinctive fear of being too far away from his Soulmate in these crucial hours after a Soulbonding, Soulsickness – caused by the loss or damage to a Soulbond was especially prevalent immediately after a Soulbonding had taken place.

_Okay._

He replied, allowing his arm to slip away from Sherlock’s, flinching slightly as he felt his Soulmate’s mind slip away. Sherlock didn’t go far, keeping his forearm hovering – although not quite touching – John’s skin.

_Does this…hurt you?_

John sucked in a breath as Sherlock moved ever further away, pacing slowly back towards the door. Before he had made it five paces he froze, his outstretched arm beginning to shake. John hissed as a sharp pain seared across his Soulmark. He jerked himself forwards, ignoring the ever present pain in his leg in his haste to get back to Sherlock. They clasped their arms together, breathing heavily as they stared at each other.

“This could be…inconvenient.”

Sherlock muttered, frowning slightly as the complications of having a Soulmate began to make themselves known. John tossed his head irritably from side to side, Sherlock’s thoughts buzzing like flies around his head, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t focus on one long enough to get a clear picture of what his Soulmate was thinking. What he was _feeling._

“We _have_ to stay connected for at least a few hours…surely you know…I mean, it’s taught in all schools…and…”

John trailed off as Sherlock’s gaze sharpened, moving to focus more clearly on John’s face.

“I never had that much interest in Soulmates...”

John hesitated, caught between the unaffected tone Sherlock had used, and the chaotic turmoil his thoughts were in. Whatever he might have once thought about Soulmates – and John was going to demand answers to that at some point – now that he was bound to John he was going to have to start learning.

“…however, it seems circumstances have overtaken me.”

Sherlock finished quietly, and John was comforted by the joy in those words. A joy that Sherlock either wouldn’t or _couldn’t_ voice, yet it was enough to know that it was there.

“Well…how these things _usually_ go…although not one part of our Soulbonding could be called that-“

John felt a twinge of pride coming from Sherlock, and a deep fascination that gave him pause – Sherlock’s insatiable curiosity was unlike anything John had seen, or felt, before.

“-is that the bond will take a few hours to form solidly. After that we should be able to move apart for brief periods of time, although physical contact will be necessary for…well…forever.”

John finished, unable to catch the last fleeting emotion that crossed Sherlock’s face and caused his arm to tighten on John’s, as John finished his explanation. Sherlock smiled suddenly, carefully arranging his arm so that they remained linked as he headed for the door.

_Sherlock!_

John exclaimed, not even realising that he had instinctively called to Sherlock through their bond,

_Where are we going? We should stay in here._

The first few hours after a Soulbonding were considered intensely private, a time when Soulmate’s could get to know each other, or more commonly, simply stare at the Soulmark that represented their heart. It was a staggering thing to see.

Your weaknesses, your dreams and fears and strengths.

Sherlock stopped, he turned to John his face hesitant as he explained.

“I’ve left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

 

 

***

 

Cataloguing his Soulmate’s varying emotions was going to take a lifetime. Sherlock’s brain could barely process his Soulmate fast enough, his normally razor sharp deductions suddenly just _not good enough_ for the man that stood in front of him. John was simply…intriguing. How Sherlock could once have thought him in any way ordinary was ludicrous.

And yet he did seem to have some distressingly _boring_ morals.

For example, he seemed of the opinion that beating a corpse to determine an alibi was…perhaps going too far. John was looked at Sherlock in a mixture of horror and… _fascination?_

“Ah so that was the…”

John made a vague gesture with his free hand towards his head, the frown lines indicating that he had seen some kind of image that might explain what Sherlock had been doing in the mortuary. With the riding crop.

“Well that saves time. Could be useful.”

Sherlock stated, not used to sharing his thoughts but suddenly struck by the multitude of possibilities that such an endeavour offered. Sherlock was dimply aware that he had a headache – not an uncommon symptom following a Soulbonding. He was equally aware – through the dull, throbbing pain that was coming down their Soulbond – that John’s was substantially worse.

Sherlock had never considered was effect his super-fast brain activity would have on an…average mind. He eyed John curiously, who was stoically refusing to voice his pain.

_Not going to work. Would have thought a doctor would be aware of the folly in trying to conceal anything from ones Soulmate._

Sherlock conveyed with no small amount of bitterness, a feeling that was reciprocated by his Soulmate. Both were used to living on their own, answering to none. Even more than that, neither was used to…opening up, to allowing someone else to shoulder some of their pain. To suddenly become…equally dependent and responsible for another person was frightening.

“It’s not too bad. I’ve had much worse.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke. _Nervous. He makes jokes when he’s nervous and bad jokes when he feels especially threatened. At the moment he’s leaning heavily on his cane, his left hand is shaking slightly and he needs a glass of water, but he won’t ask for one because he’s scared of letting go of my arm. It was painful. Pain reminds him of the war. Of his wound. Of the gun. Of his gun? Maybe. More likely the gun that ended his career. Now he’s conflicted because the bullet that ended his old life bought him here. To me._

Sherlock’s brain rattled off the observations like clockwork, his thoughts a low hum in the back of his mind. As well as being in the process of cataloguing this aspect of John he was also filing John’s smell – tea, washing powder, gun oil, sunshine, John’s minute facial expressions – his left eye twitches every so often, he glances away from Sherlock…but only to avoid being caught staring. In short, Sherlock’s formidable brain was currently totally focused on John.

“So…we have to stay _here…_ for hours?”

Sherlock enquired, thinking wistfully of his work – hastily changing his thought pattern as he felt and saw John blanch at the liquefied frog experiment.

“Unless you can think of somewhere close by that is…better suited?”

John asked, shooting nervous glances towards the door.

Sherlock smiled.

“As a matter of fact I can.”

“Oh?”

“The address is 221B Baker Street. It isn’t far.”

 

***

 

Sherlock had rarely had cause to view his home – and, in the last few years Baker Street had ceased being merely a house – from anyone’s point of view other than his own. Now that he thought about, perhaps John wouldn’t appreciate the experiments on the kitchen table. The piles of books…everywhere. Or the skull.

The cab journey had been uneventful, once Sherlock had come up with the idea of tying their forearms together with a few bandages – which served the dual purpose of concealing their Soulmarks and allowing them to stay linked.

John…didn’t _hate_ Sherlock’s home. A fact that calmed a part of him that had been waiting for the inevitable disgust. John hunted curiously around the flat, tugging Sherlock around unceremoniously as he investigated.

_That’s a…skull._

Sherlock paused at the…bland statement. He resisted the temptation to snap – of _course_ it was a skull, what did it _look_ like? Instead he hesitantly offered.

_Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’…_

John laughed, his obvious amusement at Sherlock mixed in with a healthy dose of alarm. Sherlock was strangely comforted by that, if John had seen a human skull in anyone’s house and _not_ been alarmed, then _that_ would have been cause to worry.

To make things even better Mrs Hudson _liked_ John. She had given Sherlock a home when he had been…not good. He was strangely attached to her…more so than to anyone else in his acquaintance. Many times Sherlock wondered that, had his mind not been linked to an emotional, rational human being, if he wouldn’t have been incapable of recognising emotion.

“There’s a bedroom upstairs-“

Mrs Hudson’s voice cut into his reverie, and Sherlock was suddenly aware that John and he had been staring at each other for the best part of five minutes.

“-if you’ll be needing two.”

Sherlock felt his breath catch his throat, the sudden…uncomfortable feelings he had been trying desperately not to feel suddenly springing up. John felt his turmoil evidently as he flushed, shifting slightly on his cane.

“Of course we’ll be needing two.”

He confirmed quietly, and if he felt any disappointment at that fact he hid it very well. So well, Sherlock missed it completely.

The two of them were moving things along nicely when Lestrade turned up and ruined everything.

He came bounding up the stairs like an overeager puppy, as always not bothering to pause long enough to focus on the other people in the room before he spoke.

“Sherlock, there’s been another one. Brixton. Left a note this-“

Lestrade broke off, Sherlock savouring the comic moment when the detective inspector’s thoughts came to a grinding halt. His gaze moved down to rest on Sherlock and John’s entwined forearms, where it froze.

The hope in his eyes was both gratifying and irritating.

Honestly, how a man like Lestrade persisted in his romantic frivolities when Soulbound to _Mycroft_ was unexplainable.

“The answer is yes Lestrade-“

Sherlock stated, breaking the silence.

“-we will follow just behind.”

 

***

 

And then of course, as with any ‘normal’ case, came the cabbie, the pills and a gun.

A gun fired with pin-point accuracy.

A gun which ended the life of a man Sherlock would very much like to have seen suffer just a little more, before the end.

The thing about having a Soulmate was that you couldn’t lie, you couldn’t even conceal or manipulate the truth.

When Sherlock had worked out who the cabbie was, John had known almost instantly, had turned, opened his mouth to inform Lestrade.

But had listened when Sherlock had told him to keep silent.

However, he hadn’t listened when Sherlock had told him to stay, that he could deal with this.

They sat opposite each other in the dimly lit Chinese restaurant, their arms surreptitiously touching as they casually ate their way through dim sum. Neither of them was paying a huge amount of attention to the food, both were restless, itchy. Driven by a desire that neither could fully explain.

“This is a good Chinese.”

Sherlock felt John’s hesitation, registered the trembling in his hand and knew that it had nothing to do with the stress, or lack of stress, in the situation.

“You are moving in?”

Sherlock asked, his arm tightening reflexively on John’s, startled as one of his Soulmate’s thumbs rubbed soothingly at his arm.

_My place is by your side._

Sherlock was humbled by the simplicity of that statement, yet it rang of truth.

Sherlock’s Soulmark spoke of a man who was fiercely protective of what was _his,_ tonight had proven that.

Yet it also told of a man who was close to the edge.

John’s told of a man who, despite being thought of as emotionless, was capable of a fierce passion.

Conversely it warned that the deeper and closer to him John got, the more dangerous and unpredictable he would get.

“I still can’t believe Lestrade and…your _brother,_ Myroft, are Soulmates.”

Sherlock recognised the change of subject for what it was, allowed it to drag his mind out of the dark thoughts that it wouldn’t pay to dwell on. John was watching him closely, his sharp blue eyes unwavering, even though he was exhausted.

“Hmmmm yes, I believe it took them a substantial amount of time to recognise the connection…and then it was only down to my direct intervention.”

John scoffed, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“You’re telling me they didn’t recognise each other?”

Sherlock smiled tightly, remembering his brother’s agony at the thought that his Soulmate could well die before they met. He could now sympathise in way that he had been unable to at the time.

Any remembrance of Lestrade in a hospital bed was deleted instantly. For reasons Sherlock had always been uncomfortable analysing…the memories of that time were…very painful.

John looked at him was serious eyes.

“We have to talk about that Sherlock-“

He broke off, wincing and pulling a face at his own tone of voice,

“-and yeah , I may sound like a teenage girl when I say that but…well, we’ve been linked for our whole lives…and there are reasons we didn’t meet until now.”

Sherlock froze, not wanting to pull away from the strange…comfort of John’s presence, yet feeling backed into a corner by this ultimatum.

John’s hand came up to rest on their joined arms.

“Hey, I didn’t mean right this second…or even any time soon. We have all the time we need.”

John grinned at him,

“Why don’t you tell me how you worked out who the cabbie was?"

And just like that, he was able to breathe again. John wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know I'm a horrible, horrible person. If you've been waiting for the first chapter of this, then all I can do is apologise...and say that this essay on the army of Louise XIV isn't going to write itself! Yes, I've started back at uni, which unfortunately means less and less time for typing...BUT I can promise that now I've got a moment to breath, I intend to update this fic weekly - preferably on a Saturday, but maybe on a Sunday.
> 
> So, please comment - I love that - and let me know what you think. Whether you've just joined Resonance here, or have read the other sections...I'm hoping I've made it clear enough either way. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, it amazes me every day that so many people want to read what I write! I'll see you next update...and as a teaser I've decided to start posting a word for the coming weeks's chapter...helps me to centralise my thoughts as well!
> 
> Chapter 2: A Blue Catastrophe


	2. The Blue Catastrophe Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is an old gem John. Definitely real. It’s a carbuncle, look at the colouring and cut! And worth…I’d say about three hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
> 
> Sherlock rotated the gem slowly, marvelling at the clarity of the royal blue stone. It really was exquisite. John was visibly shocked, looking from the gem to his meat smeared hands to the dead goose resting on the chopping board.
> 
> “But-“
> 
> “-but what was it doing in a goose...?”
> 
> Sherlock finished with a flourish, interrupting John before he could stammer out the sentence; really he was so slow at times.
> 
> “Well now, that is the question.”

Sherlock was awoken by his Soulmate’s screams.

He sat bolt upright, hands moving to slam across his own ears in an effort to block out the horrendous sound.

_Someone has to go. If we don’t get him out of there…_

Sherlock heard John’s voice with an air of authority that could only belong to someone with a military background. He realised suddenly that the screams, the orders…they weren’t real. John was having a nightmare.

Intellectually Sherlock knew about PTSD – enough that he knew John would baulk at even calling it that. Living with the reality was completely different from what he had read.

Being attached as he was to John’s mind Sherlock was hyperaware of how many times in a given day John had to force his mind away from his memories of the war.

Every time a car’s exhaust backfired.

Every siren screeching past their flat.

Even something as innocuous as his burning of certain chemicals.

All could set off a chain reaction that would leave John’s shoulder aching, his hand clenching as he fought back tremors and that dark mood to shift over John’s eyes. Eyes that seemed at once weary and exhausted.

The infuriating thing was that Sherlock knew that John was shielding him from the worst of it, asserting an iron will of his memories to insure Sherlock could discern only the bare bones of that was troubling him.

It made something primal in Sherlock snarl. His Soulmate should hide _nothing_ from him.

_Cover, cover! WATSON!_

Sherlock hissed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and passing softly to the living room. Standing for a moment, completely at a loss as to what he should do. Any intrusion would be met with embarrassment on John’s part, especially any attempt to touch his mind to John’s…he had a feeling that John would object to that intrusion whilst he was this vulnerable.

Sherlock’s gaze flicked to rest on his violin. Smiling in sudden realisation he strode across and lifted the instrument gently in his hands, lifting the bow to stroke it lightly across the string.

He broadcast his playing directly across their Soulbond.

He would help John fight his demons the only way that he knew John would permit him to.

 

***

 

John forced his eyes open blearily, awoken by his _insane_ Soulmate throwing _something_ at the wall.

_Sherlock! What the hell is going on down there?_

John waited. The clanging stopped abruptly.

_!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

John banged relentlessly on the metaphorical door to Sherlock’s mind which, because of their bond, was always ajar.

_Sherlock if I have to get out of bed…_

John sent the thought blearily along the bond, feeling on the periphery of his thoughts the brooding colossus that symbolised Sherlock.

_No need to worry John._

This, of course, made John immediately terrified.Groaning, John glanced quickly at the alarm clock resting on his bedside table: 6:05am. On a Sunday. Pulling himself out of bed he cast his hand about blindly for a t-shirt, shrugging it on as he muttered darkly about _lack of sleep_ and _bloody Sherlock._

John tentatively made his way downstairs, stopping to stare at the state of the living room.

Sherlock was standing surrounded by half-full containers of water, frowning curiously at the small shrub suspended from the ceiling.

“Ah. John. What do you know about how the respiratory rate of plants is affected by-“

John put up a hand, half stumbling towards the kitchen.

“Oh no, I don’t want to know. Just-“

He pressed a hand to the side of his head; as if he could wish away the headache he could feel building.

“-just make sure it’s cleaned up by lunch.”

John tried not to sound like he was begging. Sherlock had paused in his experiment, and a familiar sense of stillness crept along their Soulbond. When Sherlock’s mind ceased its deductions to _focus_ on something, it always filled John was a mixture of awe and nervousness.

“John. Sunday Lunch…really I would have thought that an archaic-“

John tuned out, his mind turning back to Sunday’s when he had been a child – his mother always managed to put a roast on the table every Sunday, regardless of where in England they had been stationed. It was one of the few good memories he had of his childhood that hadn’t been ruined by his father’s drinking. Always a religious man – at odds with both his profession and his scientific mind – he had always refrained from alcohol on a Sunday.

_John?_

The tentative touch of Sherlock’s mind to his had John snapping back out of the memory; his Soulmate’s calming presence was a balm to the bad memories.

_John. We can have the roast…if you want._

“I suppose there is some valuable data to draw from such an experience.”

John smiled, moving across the room to place a cup of tea on the surface nearest to Sherlock. He reached across to join their forearms, their Soulbond demanding contact after so many hours without. Their Soulbond was still so new – only a few weeks old – and so easily damaged.

**Brriiiiing. Brriiiiing. Brriiiiing.**

Sherlock, who had started to move towards John – used to their morning routine by now – stopped and darted across the flat to yank open the microwave. The smell of burned…

_Rat._

Sherlock informed him, his tone indicating his irritation. _Rat,_ the smell of burned rat was filling the room. John blanched, feeling nauseous as he quickly escaped upstairs.

_It’s perfectly harmless John…_

_John?!_

John slammed the door to his mind, in time to slamming the door of his bedroom. He marvelled at the turn his Sunday morning had taken. At heart he was creature of habit – each Sunday he would get up at around 7, a lifetime in the army prevented him from justifying a proper lie-in, he would walk to the corner shop and buy a paper. Then he would come back, read said paper and have a few mugs of tea.

Preferably not surrounded by hanged plants and eau de Rat.

He could hear Sherlock banging around downstairs, the dull thud as the window was flung open and then a suspicious silence. John lifted his head from where it lay against the wood of the slammed door.

He creaked open the door to their Soulbond. It was difficult to maintain the solitude for longer than a few minutes anyway.

_Sher-_

_JOHN? John! Come down! Quick!_

John wrenched the door open, flying downstairs, immediately on alert – perhaps the burned rat wasn’t as harmless as Sherlock had thought.

“John? Your tea is getting cold.”

Sherlock stood beside a pile of empty saucepans, bottles and plastic Tupperware dishes. In his outstretched hand was John’s abandoned tea. The hesitant expression on his face made John pause. His Soulmate was so used to being rejected. It was almost painful to see. Yet, despite everything he still reached out to John.

_Alright you mad bastard. Alright._

The words were a sigh along their bond, a gentle stroke of reassurance. John reached out and grasped the mug of tea, sliding gratefully into what he was already thinking of as ‘his’ chair.

Sherlock stood staring at him for a moment, his blue dressing gown falling lightly over his baggy jogging bottoms and loose t-shirt. He looked slightly feverish in the artificial light. He pivoted quickly, throwing himself down on the sofa and scowling at the plant swinging from the ceiling.

John eyed the pile of containers wearily; aware that Sherlock’s idea of ‘clearing-up’ was probably to just leave them where they were.

Just a normal morning in 221B.

 

***

 

John had never learnt how to cook from his mother or from school – he had always opted out of Food Technology when he could. It had been out of self-defence that he had picked up a cookery book after his first tour of duty.

Eyeing the meat selection in Tesco, he mentally weighed up in his mind the list of things that he could cook against the money in his account. The list was pathetically small.

He needed to get a job.

Deciding to try the butchers down the road to see if they were any cheaper, John cheerfully accepted his change from the cashier, trying not to notice how pretty she was. He was Soulbound now, that sort of thing was frowned upon.

But…it wasn’t like Sherlock had expressed any interest in the physical aspects of a Soulbonding – indeed John had felt no sign that Sherlock was even aware of certain…urges.

Turning off the high-street into a narrow alley that linked to one of the main roads, John’s attention was drawn to a group of hoody-clad youths making a scene about half-way between himself and the other end of the alley. Shifting his grip on the carrier-bags to his weaker hand he carried on at the same pace, keeping one eye on the gang as he moved forwards.

He reflected on the ridiculous notion that he had been to Afghanistan, was a professional solider and yet was wary of a group of kids. He was vaguely aware of a man moving hurriedly towards him from the other side of the alley, slightly hampered by the weight of whatever it was he was carrying.

One of the group stuck out a leg, sending the tall man flying. Whatever he was carrying slid across the concrete. Laughing the gang moved forwards, heckling the man on the ground who was attempting to rise, snatching up the cap he was wearing and tossing it to each other.

John felt a flash of interest travel down his link with Sherlock.

_John?_

_Nothing to worry about Sherlock…_

John paused to settle the Tesco bags against the wall of the alley, aware that the gang remained oblivious to his presence.

_…just helping out the community._

John felt irritation coming down the bond as Sherlock caught snatches of the situation – clearly enough that he disapproved of John’s intervention.

_Where are you?_

_Colchester Road, just off the high street…only a couple of kids…consider it doing my civic duty._

_Honestly John, ever the solider._

John huffed and cast thoughts of his Soulmate from his mind (or at least as much as he could), aware that Sherlock was nevertheless totally focused on John, his presence a comforting weight in his mind.

“Hey! Leave off!”

John hollered, jogging towards the group who broke apart at his shout, laughing and running off. Stupid kids.

“Hey, are you alright mate?”

John hunkered down next to the quivering man, who quickly ducked his head, hiding his face. He was muttering something unintelligible and his hands were shaking violently. John noted the sighs of drug use, warily getting slowly to his feet and taking a few paces back as the man staggered to his feet.

“Easy…have you hit anything? Your arm, your head-“

The punch didn’t come as a surprise, it was weak without any training or even weight behind it. John easily got out of the way, feeling a shot of adrenaline as he did.

“Hey! I’m trying to-“

Lowering his hands as the man fled, John finished,

“-help.”

John sighed, relaxing his stance and flicking his gaze over the alley. The man had left behind his hat and his…

_Sherlock…I’ve found us dinner._

John felt his Soulmate stirring in his mind, having apparently lost interest once he realised that John was in no great danger.

_What do you mean, ‘found’?_

John crouched down and tilted his head as he examined the package that the tall man had sent flying. It was a chicken.

_Goose. It’s a goose John. How…curious._

John snorted scooping up the bird and the man’s discarded hat.

_What’s curious about a goose, Sherlock?_

Not surprised when he didn’t receive a reply – he could already feel the beam of his Soulmate’s attention move elsewhere – John lugged the large bird back to his Tesco bags. Suddenly drained of energy he was forced to lean against the wall for a moment, his head swimming. Probably due to the sudden lack of adrenaline, along with the fact he hadn’t eaten anything. Shaking the dizziness off, John grinned down at his find.

It looked like the day was looking up.

 

***

 

Sherlock was bored. He had been bored all morning, a boredom that had only momentarily been helped by the arrival of John with his turkey. And even that was _boring._ Just a bunch of common thugs that had interrupted a man heading home for his Sunday dinner. Ordinary. Tedious. Dull.

He frowned in concentration; the solid weight in the back of his mind that represented John was thrumming. Previously, when the dark moods had threatened to overcome him, Sherlock would have retreated to his mind palace, cutting off all negative thoughts – turning inwards in an attempt to find peace.

He found studying the remarkable link in his mind to be a much…more agreeable use of his time. He had taken to experimenting with it, sending random words to John to see if he could pick any of the context up.

It had been frustrating beyond words to know that John was…not in danger, but certainly threatened…and yet been unable to glean any information from that.

Having someone’s mind tied to your own was a vulnerability that Sherlock had never expected.

_Sherlock?! Get in here. NOW!_

Sherlock sighed turning to face the back of the sofa, his dressing gown pulled tight around him. He had become aware of John’s silence and assumed that he was having difficulties with the goose.

And _there_ it was again. That niggling feeling that he, _Sherlock,_ had overlooked something. It was enough to make him crazy. He huffed and punched the pillow in irritation. What was it?

_SHERLOCK! NOW!_

Sherlock didn’t move. John was only going to yell at him about the…about the…

Suddenly everything came together and Sherlock gasped at the sensation that came when he made a particularly clever deduction.

_John, the goose there’s something about it that’s not-_

“I know.”

Sherlock turned to see John standing with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his face stunned as he started down at what he held cupped in his hands.

“It’s a blue jewel Sherlock…but it can’t be real…can it?”

Sherlock moved forwards, snatching the gem from John’s hands, ignoring the glare his Soulmate sent his way.

“Carbuncle.”

He corrected absentmindedly, sniffing in irritation when he felt John’s confusion.

“This is an _old_ gem John. Definitely real. It’s a _carbuncle,_ look at the colouring and cut! And worth…I’d say about three hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

Sherlock rotated the gem slowly, marvelling at the clarity of the royal blue stone. It really was exquisite. John was visibly shocked, looking from the gem to his meat smeared hands to the dead goose resting on the chopping board.

“But-“

“-but what was it doing in a goose...?”

Sherlock finished with a flourish, interrupting John before he could stammer out the sentence; really he was so _slow_ at times.

“Well now, _that_ is the question.”

He murmured,  pulling off his dressing gown with a flourish and hurrying towards his room, tossing the carbuncle over his shoulder to John as he did so – who didn’t fumble at all whilst catching it. Sherlock stopped.

_You didn’t fumble at all. You’re hand eye co-ordination is especially good but…that was exceptional, don’t you think?_

_Well I…_

_You took your cue from me. Extraordinary._

Sherlock wished suddenly that this case hadn’t turned up, which made him at once horrified and dismayed, but the truth was that he was overwhelmed by the sudden desire to explore the limits of their Soulbond…each development bought with a fascination that rivalled anything Sherlock had ever experienced.

 

***

 

John was imagining how he would write this.

11pm. North London. Cold. Wet. Miserable. Shit.

Sherlock dragged his long suffering companion and Soulmate, John Watson, all the way to the most awful, disgusting dump in the whole of London. And then left him there. Alone.

_Hardly alone, John._

John snorted, shifting slightly as he felt the cold begin to seep into his bones.

_Jesus Sherlock, I thought the times of late-night stake-outs were behind me._

_You love it._

John felt a shiver run down his spine that had nothing to do with evening’s chill and everything to do with the rumbling purr of Sherlock’s voice, the brush of his mind against John’s.

_Do you do that on purpose?_

He questioned, his eyes straying briefly across the alleyway he was hunkered down in, to fix back across to the butchers he was staking out.

_Do what?_

He felt Sherlock’s amusement. He knew _exactly_ what; he just wanted to hear John say it.

_Put so much…insinuation…into what you say…_

If John had said it out loud it would have been through gritted teeth, as it was he injected sharpness into his mindtouch that indicated his displeasure. The cold, lack of sleep and the persistent headache he had been unable to shake making him irritable.

_I have never wanted to before now._

John caught the whispered words just before he saw movement in the shop. Immediately alert he brushed his mind against Sherlock’s in warning. His Soulmate was currently stationed at the back entrance to the shop, not visible from John’s location.

_Head’s up, Sherlock. Movement._

Unable to spend the time processing the meaning of Sherlock’s words, John barely had time to hiss out the warning before he saw two men coming out of the shop. Both carrying what John fervently hoped was _not_ what it looked like.

_Sherlock, what do you think that is?_

John ventured cautiously, flashing across the image of what he was seeing. He started in pain as the action sent a lance of agony straight through his head.

_What the hell, Sherlock?_

Sherlock’s next words sent chills down John’s spine.

_We didn’t link this morning, John._

_Soulsickness._

John breathed, terror filling him.

_Sherlock, this is serious. We have to abort the case for now; if we don’t…our Soulbond could be permanently damaged!_

There was a pause.

_John. They’re carrying the man from the alleyway._

John blinked at the change of subject, Sherlock’s deductions no longer seeming impossible to his eyes…the facts swam before him making him feel sick. He was struggling to process the torrent of information that was flooding from his Soulmate.

_Sherlock. Stop. Please._

Sherlock snarled back.

 _I can’t just_ stop _my mind from working, John!_

John tried to reach across the Soulbond to warn Sherlock as the two men began to venture towards the alleyway he was in. Before he could convey his predicament his vision began to swim. And go black.

***

 

Sherlock felt John fall unconscious. When he was asleep, Sherlock only got drifts of what John was dreaming about, faint indications of what John’s absent mind was thinking about. This was a total blackness. The silence was painful. Sherlock had gotten used to the clamouring of John’s mind in such a small period of time, it now felt far more painful to be without it.

_JOHN!?_

Sherlock did the only thing he could think of and blasted his Soulmate’s mind with a bombardment of noise, thoughts and feelings. Edging quietly along with the wall he peered around the corner of the butchers in time to see the two men John had sent him an image of heave the body they were carrying, the man still very much alive as he tossed and issued muffled shouts, directly into an alley.

No.

Not an alleyway, _the_ alleyway.

The alleyway where his vulnerable, unconsciousness Soulmate was slumped.

Sherlock felt terror for the first time in his life.

_JOHN!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's late. *hides* Well perhaps I can't promise on the dot updates, but I can promise bi-weekly regular updates. Thanks so much for your hit counts, kudos and comments. They keep me writing this when I should be working...trust me that's a good thing!
> 
> Comment and let me know what you think...and what you want to see more of...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it and see you next update!
> 
> catinahat


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